


Nowhere feels like somewhere (in your arms)

by geewhizmo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Asexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mer!Harry, Mermaid Harry, Seaside, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 11:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11252112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geewhizmo/pseuds/geewhizmo
Summary: Zayn begrudgingly resigns himself to spending a long and boring summer house-sitting in a tiny seaside town with nobody but a dog for company.That is, until he meets the boy who makes his home beneath the grey ocean waters.*(A mer!au that takes place in an imaginary town off the coast of B.C., Canada)





	Nowhere feels like somewhere (in your arms)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wordcraze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcraze/gifts).



> Whoo, it's done! Many thanks to Eva & my beta B, who were amazing cheerleaders and helped me figure this all out at the last minute, any errors left are on me. Thank you also to the zarry exchange mod for being so helpful and accommodating!
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't know em*, don't own em - pls don't show em! (*em being 1d/any of their affiliates)
> 
> Cw for minor character death that takes place before the story begins and is referred to several times throughout, a near-drowning scene that might be a little intense, and a couple brief mentions of anxiety/panic attacks.

 

*

 

“Please, Zayn.” Liam uses the _eyes_ , which Zayn still hasn’t built up much of an immunity to despite all their years of friendship. “It’s near such a sweet little town, but it’s still far enough away from people that you can do as much art or reading as you want and no one will bother you for the whole summer. I loved it there so much when I was little, I cried when my parents took me home, and that was even before it had wi-fi!”

“Wow, that’s really selling it for me.” Liam hasn’t pointed out the fact that Zayn truly has nothing better to do this summer, for which Zayn is grateful. It doesn’t mean he wants to go, though. “Liam, your family would be paying me to be essentially stranded out in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s not nowhere; it’s right next to the ocean,” Liam says, before remembering that won’t help convince Zayn any. “And there’s a dog,” Liam reminds him, again with the _eyes_ , and Zayn feels his resolve beginning to slip. “You love dogs, Zayn.”

“I know.” _Dammit_ , he does.

*

Four days later, Zayn finds himself standing outside the cottage Liam had recently inherited from his late Great Aunt Gertrude. He lets out a sigh. Liam’s the one who should be walking up the steps right now, but Liam’s still in school for a few months and Zayn – Zayn wasn’t, not anymore.

The key is under the second flowerpot on the left side of the door, just like the lawyer on the phone said. Zayn is almost surprised it’s still here.

He unlocks the door and is immediately bowled over by an Irish wolfhound named Arnulf. Technically, it’s Arnulf Butterscotch-Paws the Third, but he’s big enough all on his own without resorting to his full name. Zayn doubts he’d respond to it anyways. Zayn certainly wouldn’t.

“Hey, boy!” Zayn giggles and lets the dog lick his face. “We’re gonna be roommates for a few months, if that’s cool with you?” That seems to be very cool with Arnulf.

In a few months Liam will be finished with school, and in a few months he can figure out a work transfer into the little town of Salport. And maybe by then Zayn will feel like going back to school. Maybe.

There’s a note on the fridge from the lawyer, a family friend of Gertrude Payne who had been looking after the dog until that morning. It tells Zayn all about the house, where to find everything, and the history behind it. Zayn pointedly ignores that last bit.

The checkout boy at the corner store Zayn stopped at on his way here caught Zayn staring at a rack of postcards, and told him that early map makers had misspelled “sail” when writing the town’s name, but the townsfolk were too attached to the uniqueness to ever bother changing it. Zayn nodded politely, but he was agonizing inside.

If a spelling mistake was the most exciting thing this town had to offer, he was going to be in for one snoozer of a summer.

Arnulf is half a step in front of Zayn as he explores the little house, the cheerful thumping of his tail wagging against Zayn’s legs a welcome reprieve from the grey stillness hanging around everything in this town like a fog.

It feels like an old lady’s house, Zayn thinks. There’s a crocheted tea cozy in the shape of a hedgehog in the kitchen, a collection of tiny spoons in a rack over the sink, and little knick knacks and figurines rest upon every available surface. The coffee table in the living room only has one decoration in the middle of it – a little cherub frolicking around on a cloud.

Zayn lifts it up to get a better look and realizes it’s only half cherub. The other half, poking out of the cloud, which upon closer inspection is actually sea foam, is a fish tail.

Zayn sighs, and sets it back down.                           

*

The wi-fi does work after all, which is more of a relief than Zayn would like to admit. He sets up his laptop that night and emails his folks to let them know he got here safe and sound.

He already has an email waiting in his inbox from his Other Mother. For all Liam went out of his way to convince Zayn to come here, he sure is a worrywart about him.

_Yes, the ferry ride was fine; no, nothing happened to the house before I got here; and yes, you were right about the dog, although I never actually challenged you on that. :p_

_Love u too bro, & good luck on your exam! .x _

Zayn hits send and closes the tab, opening up his art program instead. He hooks up his tablet and finishes colouring in some Power Rangers fanart for a friend’s birthday in a few days. He saves the file and fiddles around the internet for a bit, but he doesn’t find anything particularly attention grabbing. He finishes his bedtime routine by 9:45, which is incredibly early for him.

Arnulf is keen on sleeping at the foot of the bed despite his size, which Zayn is more than happy to accommodate. He ends up taking up about half the bed, but Zayn doesn’t mind. He started shivering when he had changed into pajamas and brushed his teeth, prompting him to pull on fluffy socks as well. He checks the thermostat before bed, but suspects there’s just too many little cracks in the walls for it to do much. He makes a note to tell Liam about it in the morning.

Zayn drifts off to the gentle snoring of Arnulf, who stealthily made his way up the bed until he could rest his head on the pillow next to Zayn.

Zayn wakes up again in the middle of the night. The clock on the wall says 3:00. Zayn was dreaming that he heard something and it woke him up.

It’s windy outside, and the wind chime out on the porch is pealing along with the breeze. Zayn closes his eyes and tries to focus. He was certain he heard something else, and after a few moments he catches it again. There’s a sort of distant wailing sound that he can just make out around the clanging of the wind chime. He listens to it for a while longer as it ebbs and flows with the strength of the wind.

It’s a haunting sound, and it should give Zayn the shivers, but he knows that the wind can sound like it’s something alive sometimes. His eyes start to droop again, sudden alertness from the dream ebbing away.

He doesn’t remember hearing the sound when he wakes up the next morning.

*

It rains heavily for the first few days.

Zayn keeps busy by familiarizing himself with the house and all its quirks. He plays a game with Arnulf where he tries to map out every creak in the floorboards and walk around them. He always thought it was handy to have a silent escape route planned out whenever he stayed someplace. He imagined it would be anyways, even though he can count the number of times he’s snuck out late at night on one hand. Arnulf loses the game by a landslide, but he doesn’t seem at all bothered.

He spends a whole day cleaning the whole place from top to bottom. At Liam’s suggestion, he’s started packing away some of the things he won’t need. Most of the knick knacks go into the boxes, but he leaves the one on the coffee table. It’d just feel bare without something there, he reasons.

The hedgehog tea cozy definitely stays out.                

There’s a quaint little garden behind the house too, and Zayn looks forward to weeding it when the weather lets up. He’s always found gardening strangely relaxing, and even grew tomatoes and a single bell pepper from seed when he was boarding with Liam at college.

He hopes they’re still doing okay and messages Liam a reminder every other day to water them. After the 5th reminder, Liam asks if Zayn needs to have a skype call with his babies. Zayn rolls his eyes. He had thought about bringing them, but wasn’t sure whether they’d survive the trip.

The rain lets up after almost a week. It’s the first glimpse of sunshine they’ve had since Zayn got here, and he doesn’t even mind when Arnulf leads him down a path that goes through grass so tall it reaches his waist before it empties out onto a rocky beach.

It’s muddy everywhere, and Zayn makes a mental note to start keeping a towel by the door to wipe off Arnulf’s paws when they get back. He’s grateful to Liam for insisting he get new rubber boots before he left, even though he feels a little ridiculous with the top of the boots reaching up past his knees.

He picks up a piece of driftwood and tosses it down the beach. Arnulf stares at it for a long moment before galloping off after it in a flurry of limbs. Zayn grins after him and laughs outright when Arnulf spots another stick next to the first one Zayn threw and tries to bring back both of them at once. They make their way down the rest of the beach in much the same way.

The tide is out so far that the waves are little more than a distant roar in the back of Zayn’s thoughts. Arnulf is trotting out ahead of him when he isn’t chasing sticks, occasionally circling back to make sure Zayn’s still following him.

Zayn stumbles over another good-sized stick and tosses it again. Arnulf clearly sees where it falls, but he comes back without a stick for the first time.

He whines, and presses his nose into Zayn’s hand.

“What is it, boy?” Zayn asks. There’s a sudden gust of wind, and it takes Zayn back to waking up unexpectedly on his first night here. And he’s pretty sure there _is_ a voice in the wind.

It’s louder and closer than before, too.

He tightens his grip on Arnulf’s collar. The daylight and the dog’s presence give him a boost of courage, and he decides to find the source of the song. Arnulf’s ears are perked up and tilted forward, and it doesn’t take too long before they come across a large pool where the rocks have trapped a small portion of the ocean on the shore.

That wasn’t the strange part, though. The strange part was a boy sitting half nude in the water. He was peering down at something in the water while he sang a little song to himself.

Arnulf let out a soft _boof_ , and the boy scrambles back to the other side of the pool. He tries to climb up one of the rocks but immediately falls back with a splash that soaks Zayn up to the knees. “Fiddlesticks,” he hisses.

“Hey, it’s alright. He won’t hurt you, he-” Zayn starts to say when he was struck by the realization that he wasn’t looking at an ordinary person. At first he had thought the boy was wearing sequinned pants, which was admittedly weird, but still wouldn’t have been the strangest fashion choice Zayn had seen since he went to college. But the boy’s lower body coiled around him in the water like a serpent, in a way human legs weren’t supposed to bend. And it wasn’t sequins, but fish scales that glinted in the sunlight.

Zayn had definitely never expected to come across any fantastical beings here - or anywhere else - ever. As far as he knew, they just didn’t exist. Except now, he was staring at one.

“Are you quite certain?” the boy, who clearly wasn’t human, asks then. His head tilts to the side to glance at Arnulf, who hasn’t moved from Zayn’s side. His voice sounds normal enough, though with an echo of the wind song. “That your beast is tame?”

Zayn nods. In his surprise, it’s all the response he can muster. The boy has crept up to the edge of the pool closest to him and is now gazing up at him intently. His eyes are big and wide, only just slightly more human than fish. It’s a bit unnerving.

Zayn pinches himself, but no, he’s still standing here, and this boy very much still has a tail. It shifts behind him, and the fins at the end of it look delicate as flower petals floating on the water’s surface. Zayn blinks and tries to force himself to quit staring. The boy notices and seems to mistake his shock for nervousness.

“Oh, where are my manners, sorry.” He grins broadly and holds out a hand. “Hi there! My name is Harry.”

Zayn stares at the hand.

Harry’s eyebrows draw together. “This is still the preferred custom for greeting another person, is it not?” he asks. His hand doesn’t look particularly strange, so Zayn bends down and shakes it. It doesn’t feel very strange either. Just a bit cold and wet, which was to be expected, Zayn supposes.

Harry’s grin has dimmed somewhat in the silence. “May I ask after your name?”

“Oh, um, yeah.” Zayn clears his throat. “It’s Zayn.”

“Zayn! How wonderful it is to meet you. Listen, um,” Harry leans closer over the rocks. “Do you think you might be able to lend me a hand? I’m in a bit of a spot at the moment.”

“I can see that.” The pool is so small, Harry’s tail is only just barely submerged in it. “How’d you get stuck here?”

“Well…” Harry tugs at one of his curls. His hair is long, spilling down around his shoulders in dark brown waves. “There was a mighty interesting little hermit crab trekking over the pebbles, and I was so engrossed in watching that I missed the tide going out.”

“Ah, right.” Zayn glances out towards the water. It was a long way off. He didn’t think he could make it that far, even if Harry turned out to be pretty light. It wasn’t as though he ever worked out or anything, unless he counted his forced participation in P.E. back in high school or playing street hockey with his neighbours when he was a kid.

“Would it be alright if we waited a bit? I’d be worried about dropping you, going that far, especially with the slippery rocks.”

“That would be alright, yes. Ooh, let me show you my treasures while we wait!” Harry gestures for Zayn to sit on a nearby rock. It’s a little damp, but he sits down anyways.

Harry pulls out a satchel that looks like it was twisted together with braided coils of old rope and possibly seaweed. He carefully takes out its contents one by one and spreads them out on the rocks in front of him.

There’s bits of sea glass smoothed down by the movement of the waves, various pebbles of intriguing shape and colour, three-fourths of a flip flop, a handful of bottle caps that Harry handles like precious jewels, and one slightly misshapen fork.

“What is this traditionally used for?” Harry asks, shoving the fork into Zayn’s face. “I have cleverly figured out that it wondrous for brushing hair.”

Zayn chuckles. “Actually, we use it to eat food.”

Harry makes a disgruntled face. “But what if you mistook it for a hair brusher? Wouldn’t it be disgusting if you got your breakfast in your hair?”

“That isn’t really a problem for us,” Zayn says and explains the concepts of utensils and combs to Harry, and that even though they may look a little similar, people usually didn’t confuse them.

“Well, that’s a relief.” Harry says. “I’ve never had to worry about that myself, we just use our fingers to eat food. And well, our mouths and teeth of course.”

“Of course,” Zayn agrees. “Can I ask what it is that you call yourselves?”

Harry tilts his head. “You mean our names? I already told you mine is Harry, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“No, not exactly… I mean like, a name that refers to everybody like you. Like, for me, that would be human beings, or people.”

“Ah, I understand.” Harry taps his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose seafolk is the most general name we use for ourselves, and we think of you as landfolk..”

“Landfolk,” Zayn repeats. “Yeah, it fits.”

“I have also heard us referred to as sirens before,” Harry continues, “And I like the way that sounds too.”

“Does that mean you ever, like, sing people to their deaths?”

Harry snorts. “Yes Zayn, that sounds like a really fun and absolutely useful way to pass the time. No, of course we don’t.”

Zayn chuckles. He had been joking, but it was still good to know.

As it turns out, Harry is surprisingly easy to talk to. He draws his sentences out like molasses, as though taking the time to consider each word before it passes over his lips. There’s a bit of a hiss to his S’s too, likely because some of his teeth are a little sharper than the others. And he listens to Zayn intently, who finds himself rambling without even meaning to.

Arnulf has long since fallen asleep next to them by the time Harry summons up the courage to try petting him. The dog doesn’t even open an eye, and Harry admits he might not be as frightening as he initially thought.

“People don’t come out to this beach very much, but I have seen dogs and their people before at others. I suppose it’s different, being this close, but I hadn’t thought they’d be so big, though.”

“He is one of the taller dogs out there. Might actually be the tallest, I’d have to look it up.”

Zayn isn’t sure how much time passes by before he realizes the tide is starting to come back.

“Well...” Zayn cracks his knuckles as he rises to his feet and stretches. “I guess we should figure out how to get you out of here.”

Harry tucks his treasures away again and slips the satchel back over his shoulder. Zayn had missed the strap of it beneath all the hair before.

They figure out a sort of altered piggyback. Harry isn’t that heavy - he’d probably weigh just a bit more than Zayn if he was human – but his tail is several times the length of his torso, which makes it a bit unwieldy so they have to wrap it around Zayn’s waist a couple times. It isn’t at all slimy, which Zayn had sort of been expecting. Fish tended to be quite slimy in his experience, but then Harry wasn’t entirely a fish.

The fins at the tail’s base are tucked between Zayn’s arm and ribcage. The membrane looks so thin and fragile, and Zayn feels extra cautious about keeping it off the ground. He’s not sure how Harry even manages to swim with it, but figures it would be too rude to ask. No one likes random strangers pointing out your vulnerabilities, if that even is the case here.

Harry clings tightly to Zayn’s shoulders as he stands, but is still careful not to press against his throat. Arnulf trails along after them, and Zayn hopes his joints aren’t too stiff from napping on the rocks. He’s younger than Zayn, even in dog years, but bigger dogs seemed to age so much more, somehow.

Zayn walks until the water is threatening to slip over the tops of his boots. He gulps as a splashing wave sends cold dribbling down his leg.

Harry seems to sense his apprehension and taps his arm. “I can make it from here if you want? It’s not too hard for me to wiggle around, and there’s no sharp rocks right here.” Zayn nods gratefully and loosens his grip enough for Harry to uncoil away from him and slip into the water. He somehow manages not to make much of a splash at all, which Zayn is very grateful for.

“Sorry that I couldn’t, um...”

“That’s quite alright,” Harry assures him, gliding through the water in front of him. “No sense getting soaked if you don’t have to.” He throws back a wink over his shoulder. “Thanks for getting me into the water, Zayn.”

He wriggles away through the water with unexpected swiftness. It calls to mind some sort of sea serpent, Zayn thinks, as he turns around and makes his way back to dry land.

He spots Harry further out, in water much deeper than he’d ever dare go, and waves goodbye. Harry waves back before ducking under a wave with a splash of his tail and disappearing into the sea.

Zayn stands there for a few minutes longer, watching the movements of the water lapping up over the beach.

He makes a stir fry for supper and slips a few pieces of grilled chicken into Arnulf’s bowl along with his regular kibble.

“Did you know there were seafolk here?”

Arnulf gobbles up his dinner without a word.

*

Zayn expected that to be the end of it. To his mind, extraordinary things are extraordinary because they rarely happen, and it seemed too much to assume otherwise from his chance encounter.

But when he takes Arnulf out for a walk the next day, he gets halfway down the beach before he spots Harry waving to him, perched upon a large log jutting out of the water. He looks the picture of a siren from old sailor’s stories, basking in the sun while they wait for unsuspecting victims to lure into the sea, until a large wave hits him from behind. He loses his balance and falls off the log.

Zayn climbs up over the mounds of barnacle-encrusted rock leading out into the ocean. It’s a little windy today, and he holds his arms out wide for balance. The water around him is only a few feet deep, but he doesn’t feel any less nervous as he nears the log.

Harry climbs back onto it sputtering in a language Zayn’s never heard before. He supposes Harry’s cursing in his mother tongue. He does hear one or two ‘fiddlesticks!’ in between as well.

Zayn edges as close to the edge of the rocky outcropping as he dares. The waves lap against the rock a foot or two beneath his toes, and he shivers.

“Hi!” Harry smiles over at him and peels away from the log. “Fancy seeing you here again.”

“Yeah, well…I do sort of live up the beach a-ways.”

“Oh really?” Harry clutches the edge of Zayn’s rock. “Did you move into Gertie’s house, then?”

“Yeah, actually.” Zayn isn’t sure how much Harry would understand the whole situation with Liam and school and house sitting, so he doesn’t get into it. “Did you know her?”

“Yes.” Harry rests his cheek against his arm. “We were great friends.”

“Oh.” Zayn tugs at the inside of his cheek. “Did you know that, um, she…”

Harry nods sadly. “She still insisted on coming down to visit me, even when she was sick. I told her not to, but she said it didn’t matter since she wasn’t going to get better anyways.” He exhales softly and trails a hand over the rock. “She taught me so many wonderful things. She’s the main reason I can talk to you right now, actually. And knitting- we made a scarf together. Do you know where it is?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Sorry, no.” There were a few boxes of what he guessed were more personal things already packed up in one of the back rooms, but that’s for Liam and his family to go through, not him.

He wants to lean down and pat Harry on the arm, but he’s too far away and Zayn would rather not risk losing his balance.

“Anyways,” Harry clears his throat and looks back up at Zayn. His eyes are shining. “I wanted to ask if you like eating fish?”

“Oh…I do, yeah.”

“Is there any kind you prefer in particular?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Not really, no.”

“Well, then!” Harry slaps the rock and pushes off into the water. “Come back later this afternoon and I’ll have something for you.” He’s gone under with a swish of his tail before Zayn can say another word.

Zayn makes his way back to shore again. He slips once on one of the rocks, and his knees come away stinging pink with the bite of the barnacles. It’s as good a reason as any to head back to the house for a while.

He rinses off his knees in the bathtub and digs out the first aid kit from under the sink. After he finishes up, he wanders into the bedroom and flops back on the bed.

11:30, the clock says. He doesn’t know how late into the afternoon Harry was planning to be back by, and he doesn’t want to wait around on the beach for ages with nothing to do. He reaches down for his knapsack and digs around for his iPod. His fingers close around the edge of a book, and he pulls it out, curious.

It’s his sketchbook. He doesn’t remember packing it; Liam must’ve stuck it in at the last minute.

Zayn opens it up towards the beginning to an old picture he did of his parents. They’re sitting on the couch together, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting next to them. He can’t remember what movie they were watching, something he’d already seen so he decided to sketch instead.

The edges of the pencil lines blur into obscurity toward the edges of the couch, but the outlines of their faces, of their hands nestled partially on top of one other, of his father’s bright red sweater and his mum’s bare feet, are as clean and crisp as the day he drew them with his freshly sharpened pencil. Now he thinks perhaps he should’ve done it the other way round, to better capture the gentleness of his parents, how soft they looked together.

It’s a little rough in some parts, but it’s not actually bad, even though he can’t have been more than 12 or 13 at the time. Zayn’s art skills have aged better than the rest of him. He’s kind of proud of that, even if it is a little sad.

He flips through the pages again and finds one of Liam, this time in ink. Liam was so good about sketching – he could always tell when Zayn was drawing him, even if Zayn was trying to be sneaky about it. Liam did his best to stay still then, even if Zayn could hear his knees bumping together after a while.

The more recent drawings are mostly either abandoned or scratched out halfway through. He remembers trying to calm himself down with drawing while winding down from a panic attack during midterms. It hadn’t helped much, which made him feel even worse. He hasn’t made much of an effort to get back into it since.

Zayn blows out a long breath and flips to a new page. He stares at it, at the expanse of blankness just itching to be filled. Zayn bookmarks the place with his thumb and slips a pencil behind his ear.

It’s not as windy as before down at the beach. He throws Arnulf sticks for a while, but the dog eventually decides he’d rather chew than chase them. Zayn settles nearby on a wide rock that feels just right with the warmth seeping into it from the sun. He’s only a few feet away from the edges of the water, but it doesn’t bother Zayn as much today.

He starts drawing Arnulf first, but it’s hard when the dog rolls over into a new position every couple of minutes. He’ll have to wait until he’s asleep to get a better model. He sketches the shoreline for a while and is pleased with what he captures. He flips to a new page and aimlessly drags his pencil along the page, waiting for new inspiration to sink in.

Then, unbidden, the scratches of the pencil start shaping into fins and a long tail that curls around the shape of a boy with wide eyes and long hair that floats around him in the breeze. He fills up that page and the next one, too, and the one after that. Every memory of the siren sinks into the paper as vividly as the images in his head.

The rest of the world has gradually faded around Zayn. He’s only dimly aware of the still-present warmth of the sun, the occasional echoing bird song, the soft lapping of the waves, and the crunching of Arnulf’s sticks. Until a loud splash cuts through it all and Zayn jerks his head up.

Harry’s back. He’s pulling himself away from the edge of the water towards Zayn, a large fish hanging from his mouth. Zayn closes up his sketchbook and tucks the pencil back behind his ear again. He would offer Harry a hand, but the path between them is mostly pebbles and Harry doesn’t appear to be having any difficulty pulling himself forward with his arms and the odd boost of tail wiggles. As he gets closer, Zayn can see just how sharp some of Harry’s teeth are, piercing into the fish towards the edges of his mouth.

It occurs to him then that it never properly crossed his mind that the siren could be dangerous. And maybe that’s weird, maybe someone else would’ve run screaming at the sight of him. Maybe someone else should’ve. But then, humans could be dangerous, too. Hell, even Zayn himself had the potential. So maybe someone else would’ve been scared of Harry, but Zayn wasn’t.

He supposed it also helped that Arnulf only glanced at Harry’s approaching form briefly before going back to his sticks. Deep down, Zayn’d always felt that animals had a near-supernatural ability to read someone’s most innermost self, to sense their intent. Sometimes it even felt like they could read your mind.

Harry smiles up at Zayn when he drops the fish, partially on the rock and partially in Zayn’s lap.

“Here,” he says. His smile is soft, maybe even a little shy, and he wipes his arm over his face. “This is thanks for helping me out yesterday.”

Zayn smiles back, and he doesn’t have to be a dog to know he has nothing to worry about here. He picks up the fish by the webbing of its tail. It’s a salmon, a big one, the likes of which Zayn’s never seen outside of the market.

“This is amazing, Harry, thank you. But I can’t possibly eat all of this by myself.” And then, because his parents brought him up to have good manners, he asks without thinking, “Won’t you join me for dinner?”

Harry readily accepts the invitation, but then they’re faced with the predicament of how to get him up to the house.

“Just…wait here, okay? I’ll go find something.” Zayn takes the fish and his sketchbook back to the cottage. He looks through the rooms for something, but his search turns up nothing until he heads out to the backyard.

There’s an old wheelbarrow filled with stacks of planting containers beneath one of the beach plum trees. It’s a little dirty when Zayn empties it out, but nothing a worn out blanket won’t fix.

Harry gapes at the wheelbarrow as though Zayn’s presented him with a royal chariot.

“Oh, Zayn! That’s so clever, thank you.” Zayn bends down to lift him up, and Harry holds out his arms with all the enthusiasm of a bouncy toddler.

Arnulf bounces around them delightedly as they pick their way across the beach. It’s a little bumpy, but Harry doesn’t complain once. He looks like he’s having a marvelous adventure, actually. If Zayn could go any faster, he would, just to see Harry’s response.

They make it all the way up to the path through the tall grass. Then they stop. It was fine coming down it with an empty wheelbarrow, but the path winds up a hill. It’s not too steep, but it’s steep enough that Zayn’s pretty sure he can’t make it in one go. He leans against the wheelbarrow and subtlety tries to catch his breath.

Harry glances around his surroundings, considering.

“Do you think,” he hedges eventually, “That it would be easier without the wheelbarrow from here?” He speaks up only just after Zayn’s breathing eases up, so maybe he wasn’t so subtle after all.

The cottage is pretty much at the top of the hill, and it’s not even a very big hill, so Zayn doesn’t see why not.

The line of Zayn’s back where Harry clings to him feels warm. Really warm, like Zayn had just slipped on a pullover fresh out of the dryer. It was harder to tell before, when he was soaking wet with cold ocean water that plastered Zayn’s shirt against his skin. Zayn supposes you’d have to have warm blood if you spent so much time in the Pacific.

He offers Harry tea at the house, then skims through salmon recipes on his phone while he waits for their mugs to cool. He decides on one with a maple glaze, which Harry has never tasted before, and they get to work.

“Good thing you’re not Canadian then,” Zayn jokes, and then he frowns. “Wait, are you Canadian?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t exactly live on the land, and I’m not really a human either so…probably not?”

“That’s okay, it doesn’t make a difference either way.” Zayn reaches for another clove of garlic. The recipe only asked for one, but Zayn doesn’t think that’s enough. You can never have too much garlic, really.

The salmon is a big hit all around, even for Arnulf, who gets the fish skin mixed in with his kibble.

*

Harry comes over many more times after that. The wheelbarrow system that ends with a piggyback ride works remarkably well. After a few weeks of it, Zayn feels so accustomed to carrying Harry’s weight that he starts going further and further without the wheelbarrow. He’s been working out without thinking about it.

“I feel like Elya Yelnats carrying Madame Zeroni’s pig up the mountain,” Zayn remarks once with a chuckle.

Harry’s quiet for long enough that Zayn starts to worry he might’ve offended him until he pipes up with, “I have so many questions about everything you just said.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t understand it at _all_ , even though I recognize most of the words. I don’t know how that could be.”

“It’s from a movie,” Zayn explains. “Well, a book, but they also made a movie out of it. I’ll show you.”

They don’t end up watching _Holes_ that night, because Harry is immediately taken with the cover of _The Notebook_.

Zayn’s tried showing Harry a few superhero movies on his laptop, which Harry always sits through and watches politely. But he always has such a long list of questions by the time the credits roll which seems to indicate he had a hard time grasping them.

Or maybe action movies weren’t really his thing. Zayn likes them because he’s grown up reading the comics and watching the cartoons, so watching the movies was like seeing a lavish, in-depth fanart brought to life (although oftentimes he finds himself grumbling at certain aspects of the adaptations that could’ve gone _much_ better if he had any say in making them).

Great Aunt Gertrude has a very extensive collection of romantic comedies. Zayn hasn’t much gone in for rom-coms before, but he has a feeling Harry might like them better.

It’s been so long since he actually watched _The Notebook_ , but the weeping still catches him a bit off guard. He only feels self-conscious and tries to hide his eyes for all of ten seconds before he notices Harry’s.  Zayn pats him on the arm, and Harry immediately latches onto him. The tears are streaming down his face, and both of Zayn’s shirt sleeves are a mess before he thinks to pass Harry the Kleenex.

Then Harry becomes so enraptured with the box of tissues that they have to pause the movie.

“Heavens to Betsy!” He pulls another Kleenex out to join the ever growing clump in his hand and gasps when yet another one appears immediately to take its place. “This magic box is incredible!”

Zayn chuckles and gently tugs the wad of unused tissues from Harry’s fingers. “Just take one when you need one.”

Harry nods, and they go back to watching the movie. When Zayn takes him back to the ocean that night, he declares it his favourite movie.

*

They watch Princess Bride the following night, and Harry decides he has two favourite movies now.

Zayn tries not to take it as a personal affront to his own taste in movies when Harry asks if they can slowly go through the entire collection of rom-coms whenever he stays late for a movie.

“We could switch it up?” Harry suggests quickly, as though sensing Zayn’s feelings or quite possibly reading into his carefully neutral expression. “It’s not very fair to you, and it is your house after all, so maybe you could pick something one night, and I’ll pick something the next?”

“Yeah, alright.” Zayn shrugs amicably. It’s not that he doesn’t like romantic comedies per se – he’s actually found himself enjoying them more now than he ever did  - it’s just that a small, irrational part of him wants Harry to enjoy Zayn’s favourite things as much as Zayn does. They make Zayn happy, and he wants Harry to feel an extension of Zayn’s happiness too.

He does start to notice a shift in Harry’s questions while watching those movies that are less “What on earth is happening?” and more “Why did you smile at that part?” Zayn finds it much easier to talk about things in terms of how they make him feel, and these questions often sprout into long conversations while snuggled close on the sofa.

Harry is happy to share his own thoughts and feelings about things, but he seems more comfortable doing so after listening to Zayn, perhaps to get some sense of a baseline. Or maybe he just feels more confident with himself when Zayn is too.

It’s nice, whatever it is. Zayn finds himself feeling so deeply comfortable around Harry that he doesn’t think to mention that their time together will end when the summer does. Not for a while, at least.

*

There’s a dusty little shed in the backyard. Zayn goes into it one morning with the intention of tidying it up, but when he sees all the gardening supplies he switches gears.

He spends the rest of the afternoon weeding and plotting out areas for new plants. The garden obviously hasn’t been touched in a long time and everything’s overgrown. But everything’s all clearly marked with little handmade signs, so it must’ve been well loved at some point.

Arnulf comes out to join him and flops down on the stone pathway, close enough to Zayn that he can flop his head in Zayn’s lap for a scratch behind the ears if he wants, which he often does.

Zayn reads up on some of the plants growing there on the internet that night after dinner and decides a few of them would grow better in different parts of the yard. There’s also a basket of seeds in the shed he wants to find homes for as well.

There’s something about gardening that Zayn’s always found to be very cathartic, and whenever the weather’s decent he spends a good deal of his spare time in the garden.

He tells Harry about it during his next walk down to the beach, and Harry tells him that he’s done underwater gardening before and would be happy to offer his assistance.

Harry stretches across the warm stones on the opposite side of Zayn and methodically works on pulling weeds out from the crevices of the pathway until Zayn needs his help for something. He hums contentedly while he works, eyes half closed in the light, and he reminds Zayn of a cat sunning himself.

There’s a bowl of candies in between them, and Zayn catches himself wondering if seafolk brush their teeth. They must do something of the sort or else Harry’s breath would probably be rancid. He doesn’t know how much sugar, if any, was present in Harry’s diet before, and he hopes he won’t be a poor influence by giving him sweets.

“You’re very good at this,” Harry remarks through a mouthful of mints, sprinkling little mounds of soil into the holes Zayn’s digging and nestling daylily bulbs on top of them at Zayn’s instruction. “Did you do a lot of gardening before you came here?”

“A little, yeah.” Zayn pats the soil over one of the daylilies. “I was growing some vegetable plants from seeds before I came here, and I spent a lot of time making sure I was giving them everything they needed to grow.”

“You left them at your former home?”

Zayn wipes his hands over his work pants. He should really get some new gardening gloves; the ones he found in the shed are practically threadbare. “Well, not really. I left them with my friend, Liam. I was staying at a big school with him for a while, before I came here.”

“You came from a big school?” There’s wonder in Harry’s voice, and Zayn tries not to wince at it. “How long were you there for?”

“Just two and a half years.”

“Why ‘just’?” Harry tilts his head to look at Zayn, which he seems to do when he’s feeling particularly inquisitive. “Was it too hard for you?”

“Kind of...” Zayn sighs to himself, but nobody’s pestered him about the subject in weeks so he might as well get it out in the open with Harry and hope he bores with the subject and moves on.

“I did really well in high school, so it wasn’t that, like, the material itself was too challenging for me. It was just everything else, the format of things, all the homework, the oral presentations, my schedule – all of it together, I just couldn’t keep up with all of it. My mental health was at an all-time low when I dropped out.”

“Did it help?” Harry asks. He’s still looking at Zayn with those wide, earnest eyes. “Are you better now?”

“Yeah, actually. I’m not, like, perfect, but I feel much better than I have in a long time.”

“That’s good.” Harry wraps a hand over Zayn’s wrist and squeezes lightly. “I’m glad you left the big school, Zayn.”

Zayn smiles. Harry squeezes his wrist once more before asking Zayn to pass him another candy. It’s a pleasant change from hearing people immediately follow up by asking when he’ll be going back.

He sends Liam his usual reminder to water the plants when he goes back inside and laughs outright when he reads Liam’s fondly exasperated response that evening.

*

Zayn doesn’t remember the name of the movie they’re watching that night, something light and cheesy that lulls Zayn in with the tender romance blossoming between the two leads. When they talk about each other, he catches himself feeling mirrored, that he would also describe growing affections in the same ways, how simple and wonderful falling in love could be.

One line that sticks out to him in particular is when one of the characters is trying to convince her best friend that she was very much in love with someone even though she had been acting so calmly about it all.

“Love isn’t always going to be like a room-sized jacuzzi in a five star hotel. Sometimes it’s like having a warm shower after a long day. Just because it could be fancier doesn’t mean it could be better.”

Zayn couldn’t agree more and tugs his blanket up over his face until the soft material catches the dampness in his eyes. If he wasn’t weepy before Harry got him hooked on rom-coms, he certainly was now. (Although Zayn’s got more than an inkling that he’s always been a naturally weepy sort.)

Then there’s a scene where the pair meet up during a dance even though they both came with different groups of friends, not each other. They spend half the dance gazing at each other from across the room until one of them eventually summons the courage to walk over and suggest that they go off to find somewhere more private.

Zayn pushes the blankets off himself and quietly excuses himself to the bathroom. He knew what was going to happen, of course, and it really wasn’t _that_ big of a deal. But he did need to pee anyways.

The thing that really caught him off guard was that the line struck a chord in his memories, and he finds himself drifting back to one particular night during his last year of high school.

Zayn remembers sitting on the steps at a party and meeting a boy. Charlie had short, shiny black hair and warm, inky brown eyes. He was drinking a vodka-cran, which he let Zayn have a sip of, and shyly admitted he didn’t get out to parties much.

Zayn didn’t either, not really. He’d seen Charlie around school before and knew that he and his family had recently moved there from Portland. He joked that the constant rain in the Lower Mainland was the biggest difference between the two, but still. Whole ‘nother country and all, had to feel a little weird.

Charlie was just as much of a geek as Zayn was, and Zayn liked him instantly. They started off talking about their classes, a conversation that soon gave way to more advanced topics like which movie version of Spiderman was the best or what their current favourite song was.

Charlie leaned close when there was a light lull in the conversation. Zayn’s pulse picked up excitedly because he thought he was going to get a kiss, but then Charlie’s lips brushed against his ear and he asked if Zayn wanted to go find a room.

Zayn thought about continuing their conversation inside, somewhere quiet without the presence of mosquitoes to bother them. About sharing kisses and maybe even secrets while huddled next to each other on a bed. He thought about playing with Charlie’s hair and whether Charlie would want to play with his, too.

But he knew that wasn’t what Charlie was asking and shook his head, smiling apologetically even as his heart sunk deep in his chest. Charlie looked disappointed, but nodded and shifted back a little. They talked a little more, but Zayn knew that was it.

He tried to explain, even though the words he needed didn’t have a place on his tongue yet back then, but Charlie waved him off and said he didn’t need to give him a reason.

He saw him again later in school, and they shared a bro nod in the hallway, but Charlie never actually sought out his company again, even though Zayn had thought their conversation together had been mutually enjoyable. It bothered Zayn more than he would like to admit, though he hadn’t known the exact words to put to the feelings at the time. He just wished it could be enough, the way he felt for people.

Shaking his head out of his thoughts, Zayn quickly flushes the toilet and washes his hands. He’d only been gone a few minutes, but Harry eyes him carefully as he walks back into the living room and settles onto the couch again.

Harry can tell something’s up, and Zayn tries not to notice. He keeps his gaze focused on screen, where the couple are chatting with each other over coffee and eggs. Breakfast is nice and relatable, and he hopes Harry thinks he looks properly invested in the movie again. It doesn’t work.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, and Zayn holds back a sigh. There’s nothing _wrong_ exactly, just…Zayn doesn’t know.

“It’s nothing worth mentioning,” Zayn says quietly, but then he makes the mistake of catching Harry’s gaze, and he feels compelled to tell him the truth.

“It’s just…” Zayn worries at a loose thread in the seam of his shirt. “Sometimes I don’t like being reminded that when people fall in love, for most people it always happens like that, like the last scene. Like it’s always supposed to lead up to that.”

“For most people?” Harry repeats, and Zayn nods. Harry purses his lips. “But not you, though?”

Zayn shakes his head.

“Do you wish you were? Is that why it bothers you?”

Zayn thinks about that for a moment. Sure, he’d felt more self-conscious about it when he first realized it, but he only ever wished that the world would make him feel more comfortable being himself and not the other way round.

“No…I like being the way I am. I just wish it felt easier sometimes.”

The movie’s still going on in the background. Harry had turned down the volume, but he didn’t turn it off completely. Zayn appreciated that, because it was harder to bare your soul into complete silence.

“I just, like, I think cuddling with someone is the nicest thing you could do with another person, but that’s not the way most of the world sees it, and it’s just, I dunno. Kind of lonely, somehow? Just like, feeling alone with your thoughts, even though you aren’t really, but it feels like you are sometimes?” Zayn rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, I’m not making any sense at all, am I?”

Harry shifts a little and the couch creaks beneath him. “I may not be terribly familiar with the manner in which landfolk think about such things, but what you’re saying doesn’t sound strange to me at all. It actually sounds fairly common amongst seafolk. Certainly, many of us do choose to procreate, but that is by no means the primary purpose driving our lives, nor our relationships.

“There’s so many different ways to feel love, and I’ve never thought that any one was more important or essential than others. I mean, I love watching the sun rise over the water and I also love playing with sea lion children, but I know it isn’t the same feeling? They both make me happy, but I don’t feel protective when I’m watching the sun, you know? Or…I don’t know, maybe it’s not really comparable.” He lets out a disgruntled sigh.

“What I’m trying to say is that I think it’s just dandy to feel different ways about different things, and I don’t see why that should be any different for landfolk.” He shuffled the rest of the way across the couch, close enough that if Zayn moved towards him just a little bit more they’d be leaning against each other.

“I’m sure you’re not weird to feel the way you do,” Harry says, and Zayn moves towards him just a little bit more. “And I’m also sure anything that makes you feel otherwise is a smelly heap of rubbish.”

Zayn thinks he should laugh at that, at the perfect opportunity Harry gave him to brush away the emotional direction of their conversation. So he does, a little, but he’s always been the weepy sort and the sound comes out a little funnier than he meant it to.

“Thanks, Harry,” he says softly. Harry hums just as softly in response.

His head slowly slides onto Zayn’s shoulder as they watch the rest of the movie, and it’s as his light snoring fills the room (but mostly Zayn’s ear) that Zayn realizes just how much he loves Harry.

They fall asleep on the couch like that and wake up the next morning lightly tangled together. It’s the first time that Harry stays the whole night, but it’s far from the last.

*

Zayn squints at the labels on the two different jugs of juice. They have the exact same nutritional breakdown down to every digit, even though they’re completely different brands and flavours of juice.

It’s certainly not anything to write home about, but Zayn does almost wish he were shopping with someone else who could lean over his shoulder and offer a mild ‘huh’ at his discovery. Liam was always good to shop with, and Zayn misses their time spent in those simple outings together. He misses a lot about Liam, even though he’s far from lonely now.

Zayn checks his grocery basket again and wracks his brains for anything else he needs. He made a list of course, but Arnulf ate it just as he was leaving (possibly _because_ he was leaving) and he didn’t feel like making a new one.

He’s not sure why he grabs an extra pair of gardening gloves, because Harry’s fingernails are a little more like claws – a little denser and growing naturally into a slight point - and would probably just poke holes through them.

But the smoky blue reminds him of Harry’s tail, and he thinks Harry would appreciate being thought about regardless.

He picks up a packet of pop rocks and wonders how far they’ll rank on Harry’s human magic scale, if they’ll reach the level of Kleenex, which so far has still been the most exciting thing he’s yet to encounter. Zayn couldn’t believe he hadn’t felt that way about television, except apparently he’d already known about that for _ages_. Kleenexes, on the other hand, had never come up in a conversation before.

“Hey, it’s you again.” Zayn blinks up slowly at the sales clerk walking towards him. Oh right, he was the one Zayn saw on his first day here, who told him the bit of town trivia.

“Hey,” Zayn says, waving the pop rocks at him. The boy squints, then nods approvingly at Zayn’s choice in candy.

“Watermelon’s my favourite, too,” he says.

“It’s the only flavour here,” Zayn points out and then winces because that might’ve sounded a bit rude, but the boy just shrugs.

“Still my favourite.” Then he clasps his hands together and peers at Zayn over his steepled fingers. “So, listen…is there anything I can help you with?”

“Um, not really…” Zayn thinks for a moment. “Oh- would you be able to show me where I could find art supplies? Like, paints and brushes and stuff.”

The boy frowns behind his steepled fingers. “Yes...” he says slowly, “But there’s a bit of a problem.”

“What’s that?”

“I was kind of planning to close soon…”

“Oh!” Zayn isn’t sure what time it is, but he hadn’t actually run into any other customers while he was shopping, and that was a little odd, come to think of it. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t realize it was near closing time.”

He sweeps past him and dashes towards the check out. There’s only one lane open, of course, and god, Zayn is such a rude customer, and he’d had his fair share of dealing with those over the years in his after school jobs, and the last thing he wants is to be one of them.

The boy jogs to catch up with him, arriving just as Zayn is frantically unpacking his basket.

“Hey, woah! You’re totally fine, it’s not really closing time.”

Zayn pauses, the gardening gloves that reminded him of Harry’s tail clutched in his hand. “What?”

“It’s just, well...You’re new here so you wouldn’t know, but we kind of have a town tradition on Friday nights where everyone closes a little bit early for karaoke.”

“Karaoke?”

“Yeah, down at the Sea Lion’s Head. It’s a pub. Well, it’s actually more like _the_ pub, cos we’ve only got the one here...” He twists his fingers together. “We don’t usually close this early, but tonight’ll be my second time hosting and I’m kind of _really_ , totally nervous about setting up and everything.”

“Oh,” Zayn says. He put the gloves down on the checkout counter. They were the last thing in his basket. “Can I still buy these or-”

“Yes, you totally can!” He starts scanning the items. “Listen, I’m really sorry about rushing you and freaking you out and everything, it’s super not cool of me.”

“I, that’s alright.” Zayn doesn’t mind, not really. “The art stuff was really more of just an afterthought.”

“Hey, no - when’s the next time you’re coming in?” Zayn opens his mouth to say he isn’t sure, but the guy rattles on. “Doesn’t matter, I pretty much live here anyways…But next time you come in, I’ll give you my employee discount on any art stuff you want.”

“That’s…that’s very kind of you, but you really don’t have to...”

“Nah, mate, I insist. Least I can do.” He finishes bagging Zayn’s groceries and reads out the total. “Hey, come to think of it, I’ve never seen you at karaoke. You should totally come with me! Buy you a drink?”

“Oh, well, um...I’m flattered, thank you, but I’m-”

“Woah, no.” The boy crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Sorry, I definitely wasn’t trying to hit on you or anything. You don’t have to come if you’re not comfortable, but I just think you’ll have a nice time and like, no offence, but you don’t really seem to get out much.”

Zayn shrugs. “Fair enough,” he admits.

“So you’ll come? Give me like 8 minutes to finish closing and I’ll walk you there.”

“Oh, um.” Zayn looks at his groceries. “I’ve got to refrigerate these.”

“Not a problem!” The boy whips off and folds his apron under his arm in one fluid movement. “We can use the staff fridge there.” He winks. “I’ve got an in.”

*

That’s how Zayn finds himself being dragged along to the Sea Lion’s Head for the first time.

The boy from the store, who introduces himself as Niall during the walk over, bustles Zayn into a seat at the bar while he takes his groceries into the back.

His in is a bartender named Louis who appraises Zayn with sharp eyes that soften when Niall clings to him from behind.

“You know you’re not supposed to be behind the bar, right?” Niall tries to blow a raspberry into his ear, and Louis shoves him off and pulls him into a headlock. For all Louis’ protests, he doesn’t seem to mind keeping Niall there a little longer, and Zayn glances away. He feels like he’s intruding somehow.

“I’d like you to meet my new friend, Zayn,” Niall says, who doesn’t seem at all perturbed about his current situation. Zayn tries not to melt inside about being referred to as someone’s friend after knowing them for barely an hour, all encounters included.

He suspects Niall’s just like that with everyone he meets. He soon finds out that he is, picking up friends wherever he goes. Zayn also learns that doesn’t make his declaration of friendship any less meaningful.

“Good to meet you, Zayn.” Louis offers his free hand, and they shake. “It’s nice to see a fresh face around here. What brings you to Salport?”

“Well, I’m actually just house sitting for one of my friends. His Great Aunt passed away a few months ago so I’m looking after the place until he can come and stay here in the fall.”

Niall’s eyes widen and he pushes himself out of Louis’ grip. “That wouldn’t be Gertrude Payne, would it?”

Zayn nods. In a town this size, he suspects everyone would know everyone. Niall especially seems like he would.

“Does that mean you’re mates with Liam?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, surprised. “We go way back.”

Niall stares at him for two seconds before giving an alarmingly loud whoop and running around the bar. He slams into Zayn in a full-body embrace, and it’s a small wonder they don’t topple over onto the floor. As it is, Zayn wobbles a bit before hesitantly returning the hug.

It’s nice, if extremely unexpected. He looks to Louis for an explanation over Niall’s head. Some alarm must show in his eyes because Louis clears his throat loudly, and Niall immediately steps away.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Got so excited I didn’t really think.”

“It’s okay,” Zayn says. “I’m guessing you know Liam, too?”

Niall nods vigorously. “Yeah, since we were pretty much infants. I love him, he’s so great.”

Zayn chuckles. “Me too. Do you need any help setting up, by the way?”

Niall glances at his watch. “No, but I should get started. You hang out here with Louis.” He turns to Louis and points at Zayn. “I owe Zayn a drink, get him whatever he wants on me.”

Then he’s off, and Zayn shuffles back to his seat at the bar. Louis gestures him to lean in a little closer.

“I hope he didn’t spook you too much there?” Louis asks quietly. “He’s feeling really on edge about hosting, even though I know for a fact he’ll be great at it.”

“It really is fine,” Zayn insists. “A little confusing, yeah, but no harm done.”

Louis nods and pushes off from the counter. “Alright. Now, what’ll it be?”

Zayn picks an alcohol-free cocktail because he’s driving and settles in as the place slowly starts to fill up with people. It turns out Louis’s friends with Liam, too, and they trade Liamisms while the crowd trickles in.

The atmosphere is nice, even though Zayn doesn’t know anyone else. He meets the owner, Paul, who has kind eyes, but towers over him in a way that makes Zayn decide he must double as a bouncer, too. Niall comes to hang with Zayn now and then and introduces him to a few more patrons, all of whom he apparently knows by name.

He’s being much more thoughtful about his touches now, hovering next to Zayn like he wants to swing an arm around his neck, but catches himself before he does.

Zayn may be shy, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t tactile. Niall comes to sit next to him after the first couple songs. He’s trembling a little bit, and Zayn can’t tell if it’s more nervousness or excitement, but he tells him he’s doing an awesome job and reaches out for a high five that somehow turns into a partial hug.

Zayn surprises himself and signs up for a couple songs, too. He messes up on the last note of his second one, but his audience doesn’t seem to mind and cheers just as loudly as they did for his first. They’re a rather supportive bunch, and Zayn can’t help grinning to himself as he steps off the makeshift stage.

He orders another soda and stays much longer than he meant. He makes a point of opening his arms for a Niall-hug when he leaves, and Niall clings to him like a koala. Zayn likes that he doesn’t feel the need to throw in a bro-y slap at the end of the hug, just grins and wishes him a good night.

He hadn’t expected Louis to be the sort to give him a hug goodbye, not just because they’d only just met, but he got the feeling Louis doesn’t connect with people as easily as Niall.

But he does, adding that he hopes to see Zayn again soon. He gives him a look when he pulls away that says he really means it too.

Zayn doesn’t need much convincing and shows up again next Friday. It fits into his schedule as seamlessly as movie nights with Harry.

*

Zayn lets Harry sleep in at the house one morning while he takes Arnulf out for a walk. He hasn’t felt the need to have a coffee since he’s been in Salport, and even though he practically lived on the stuff back in school, he’s never felt this energetic, especially not so early in the day.

He’s whistling as he walks, right up until he spots Arnulf rolling around in a dead fish. Zayn tries his best to get him at least a little cleaned off in the ocean, but soon gives up trying to corral the dog and escorts him back to the house.

He keeps a good grip on Arnulf’s collar in case he tries to bolt. He doesn’t, but Zayn doesn’t trust him to roam freely around the house covered in rotting fish smell and shuts him in the bathroom while he rummages around in the closet, where he’s positive he spotted dog shampoo before.

Harry’s awake now and thumps gracefully off the couch in the living room. Zayn calls out a good morning, and Harry soon finds him in the hallway.

“What are you doing?” His voice still sounds sleepy, and he lists against Zayn.

“Giving Arnulf a bath. A-ha!” He triumphantly pulls out the bottle. “He rolled in something gross.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “I can tell. You want a hand?”

“Sure.” Zayn’s hosed off Arnulf with the garden hose a few times when he’s got mud all splattered up his legs, but a proper bath in the tub is another matter entirely.

It’s a properly messy affair, which at first Harry is very apologetic about, thinking he hadn’t done a good enough job. But Zayn hastens to assure him he did fine, and it was a pretty typical bath as far as dogs went.

“He’s clean now, and that’s all that matters,” Zayn says. They’ve finished drying Arnulf off with the hair dryer now (which he actually seemed to enjoy), and after a bit of brushing they let him out.

“The floor is pretty clean too,” Harry points out, glancing around them.

Zayn giggles and sinks back down onto it. He’s sopping wet himself now, so it hardly makes a difference.

Harry scooches forward until he’s leaning over Zayn’s legs. Zayn’s laughter fades away, and he watches Harry with an easy smile as he reaches out and wipes a bit of soap suds from Zayn’s ear.

“Got some more here,” Harry says and dabs at Zayn’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Zayn is distantly aware that his face is heating up under Harry’s attention. He’s sure Harry notices too, but finds he doesn’t mind that a bit.

“You’ve got some yourself,” Zayn says and reaches up to pull a dollop of bubbles off the top of Harry’s head. Harry’s eyelids flutter closed as Zayn touches his hair. Zayn feels an odd but not unpleasant pressure in his chest and he brings his other hand up to press against Harry’s cheek.

Harry leans into his palm and opens his eyes. He glances down at Zayn’s mouth, then back to his eyes. He looks happy and maybe a little bit nervous, too. Zayn feels pretty much the same as he tugs Harry closer.

The kiss is achingly sweet and gentle. They move against each other slowly, not for lack of confidence, but because they’ve never felt a need to do anything more than savour the intimacy as it unfolds between them. Zayn feels nearly overwhelmed with the sensations of warmth and joy and contentedness rolling over him.

He kisses the tip of Harry’s nose when they pull apart, and Harry grins back at him, eyes twinkling, before tucking his head over the top of Zayn’s chest, Zayn resting his chin in his curls. It’s Harry’s favourite cuddling nook, he says the sound of Zayn’s heartbeat is like a lullaby somehow.

Zayn exhales slowly and watches fondly as Harry rises slightly with his incoming breath. But as lovely as this is, Zayn’s soggy clothing and the hard floor are starting to bother him.

“I have to get up,” he says with a sigh. “Sorry...I’d rather not, but I really do need to rinse off and put on something dry.”

Harry nods understandingly and sits back up. “Have you ever had a bubble bath before?” he asks.

“Yeah, plenty of times. Have you?”

Harry shakes his head. “I have heard they’re quite nice though,” he admits, and Zayn tries not to snicker outright at the not-so-subtle-as-Harry-probably-thinks-it-is note of hope in his remark.

“They are,” he agrees. “I think there’s a bottle in that cupboard behind you.”

Zayn shampoos and conditions Harry’s hair for him (who later declares that he had never truly lived before he had experienced Herbal Essences) and instructs him on how to keep the soap from getting in his eyes. He kneads his fingers over Harry’s scalp, and Harry hums all the while, eyes closed in bliss.

His humming gradually starts growing louder, until he parts his lips and it turns into song. Zayn almost stops playing with his hair, but he recovers quickly, afraid to cause an end to Harry’s singing.

But Harry’s song continues unhindered, and his voice is hauntingly lovely as he sings in a language that must be his mother tongue. Zayn doesn’t understand the meaning of any of the individual sounds, but somehow he thinks he can guess what they mean all strung out together.

Harry confirms it when the song ends and he tilts back over his shoulder to look at Zayn, enquiring after a kiss, which Zayn is more than happy to give. He makes a mental note to ask if Harry could teach him some of the words later. He’s already got two languages under his belt, why not start on another?

“That was beautiful, Harry,” he says, still in awe. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Harry beams back at him. “I’d like to do your hair now,” he says, and they shift around in the tub to make it easier. It’s a bit snug with the two of them, but Zayn doesn’t mind.

Harry had been a little embarrassed when he first climbed in and saw how much more space he took up with his tail, but Zayn told him it was alright. “You have a place here just as much as me,” he said. “You can take up all the space you need.”

Harry squirts out a little more shampoo than he needs for Zayn’s hair. Luckily though, none of it gets in Zayn’s eyes. Harry’s fingers are careful moving through Zayn’s hair, but the light scratch of his nails feels nice along his scalp.

Afterwards, when they’re toweled dry and Harry’s wrapped up in a bathrobe while Zayn makes eggs and toast, Zayn overhears Harry tutting at Arnulf.

“I think you were quite silly to make such a fuss over a bath. I thought it was very nice.”

Zayn has to agree.

*

Sometimes Harry tells Zayn stories about his life in the water. It turns out he’s traveled a lot, but there’s always been something about this place that draws him back eventually.

Zayn’s been sketching out some of the scenes from his stories. More recently, he’s started bringing a few of them to life with paints. Niall was true to his word about the paint supplies and even has a few things special ordered in for him. He thought you wouldn’t be able to get in much on a small island town like Salport, but Niall has a knack for finding things.

He’s been focusing on getting the hang of watercolour lately. He’d done a unit or two of it back in school, but had never felt comfortable enough with it to use it for his own compositions. It felt too unpredictable, the way the colours bled over the canvas as if they had a mind of their own.

Now, Zayn’s gotten better at predicting and guiding it. There’s a softer feel to it that he’s gotten very fond of.

He shows up at the pub a bit later than usual that night (and Zayn is often fashionably late to begin with) because he was caught up finishing a painting of a group of sea otters playing hide and seek in a kelp forest.

Harry had spotted them one afternoon and watched in fascination for a while before they noticed him and insisted on him joining in. It had been a bright and sunny day at the surface, and there was so little wind that the sunlight easily filtered down through the seaweed, splashing everything in yellow.

Zayn steps away when he’s finished and takes a picture on his phone. Then he realizes the time and does a hurried clean up before deeming himself presentable enough for the pub crowd.

Niall is hosting again tonight, to no one’s surprise but Niall’s, who looked positively gobsmacked the first few times they asked him back. They usually switch up the DJ’s a fair bit, but Louis’s told Zayn that he suspects it won’t be long before Paul offers Niall a permanent gig, which Zayn definitely agreed with.

Niall’s got such an easy, cheerful way of engaging the crowd and his bright spirit is contagious. The second time Zayn saw him, Niall told him he was sure his knees were knocking the whole time and had been praying that no one would notice. Zayn hadn’t, but he could certainly relate.

Zayn finds the spot at the bar that’s started to feel like his own, and Louis starts him off with a Piña Colada. Zayn still can’t tell whether or not him and Niall are actually dating, but it’s been so long that it’d feel weird to ask now. It doesn’t even matter anyways, but it does make him a little curious.

He’s told Harry about them as well, who likes to hear about Zayn’s life outside his time with Harry just as much as Zayn likes to hear about his. Harry isn’t sure if they’re dating either, but they’re definitely together in some sense.

“What’s that on your hands, Z? Doing renovations?”

Zayn glances down and realizes he hasn’t done a very thorough job scrubbing off the paint.

“Different kind of painting, actually.” Louis raises his eyebrows. Zayn’s positive Niall would’ve told him about all the art supplies he’s purchased, but he doesn’t bring it up. “I have some pictures on my phone, if you wanted to see?” he offers.

Louis makes grabby hands, and Zayn pulls up his latest one and shows it to Louis.

“Bloody hell, Zayn,” Louis hisses and leans in closer. Zayn offers the phone for him to take, and he immediately starts zooming in on the details. “This is incredible. How much is it going for?”

“Thanks, Lou,” Zayn chuckles.

Louis glances up from the phone. “I’m serious, Zayn. This is definitely money-worthy.”

Zayn shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “I dunno, I can’t very well walk around town wearing a big sandwich board asking if anyone wants to buy any of my art.”

Louis rolls his eyes and hands the phone back. “No, but you could put them up online or see if you could display something in a local business if you wanted to sell them around here.”

“You really think people would buy them?”

Louis flicks a stray peanut at him. “Of course they would, Zayn, don’t be silly. You’ve got a real talent there.”

“Yeah, well…” Zayn shrugs and ducks his face down, embarrassed. “I didn’t exactly finish school, I’m mostly just self taught.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Louis says and moves away to refill someone's beer mug. When he returns, he asks to see some more of Zayn’s art and over the course of the night Zayn shows him his whole portfolio.

Later, Paul comes over and asks if Zayn would be interested in displaying some of his artwork in his wife’s restaurant, which was on the other side of the building.

“Not that I wouldn’t be glad to have anything of yours here, but with this rowdy bunch I’d be a little too concerned about it’s safety.”

Zayn chuckles. “Thanks, Paul. That sounds great, I just need some time to think about it.”

“Of course, Zayn. Clodagh’s had art displayed there before, and I believe her commission rate is 10%, if you’d like to think about that as well.”

“Thank you, I will.”

*

He goes in to talk to Clodagh a few days later, and she invites him back to her office. It all feels so professional, which is something Zayn never expected to feel when he started pursuing art.

She looks through the pictures on his phone, and to his surprise she wants to purchase one for herself. He’s even more surprised when she shows him which one.

It was one of the first of Harry’s stories that he tried to bring to life on canvas. There was an ancient and battle-scarred shark that started following Harry through the ocean. At first he thought she wanted to make a dinner out of him, but it turned out the massive creature was being bothered by a rusty hook lodged in the corner of her mouth and was attempting to seek his help.

In the picture, Zayn tried to depict the calm and relief in the old shark as she swam away after he removed the hook. He had been pleased to look at his finished work and feel that he’d succeeded, despite the sharks’ fearsome appearance.

“Our wedding anniversary is coming up soon,” Clodagh explains. “And Paul loves sharks.”

Their little chat goes well, and Zayn agrees to bring in three paintings the next day. She asks for some copies of his card, but he hasn’t got one.

“You’ll want to make one soon then, dear,” Clodagh advises. “And you should keep copies on you at all times.”

Zayn laughs a little. “I’m still pretty new to all this. Thank you so much, Clodagh, for everything.”

*

Harry is ecstatic when he tells him the good news. “That’s so wonderful, Zayn! Your first commission, why you must be excited.”

“Yeah, I definitely am!”

Harry squeezes him tightly once more before reaching down behind a boulder to pull out something he’s got wrapped in seaweed.

“What is it?” Zayn asks.

“It’s a gift for you,” Harry says. “You’re always so kind to me, and you bring me so many wonderful different treats to try every time you go shopping that I wanted to get you something from me, because you mean a lot to me.”

Fingers trembling, Zayn tugs aside the seaweed to reveal a little seashell.

“It’s a special kind of seafolk whistle,” Harry explains. “You’re supposed to wear it around your neck, but I thought you’d rather put it on one of your own chains. I made it so that you can blow on it anytime, anywhere you are, and I will always hear you.”

Zayn’s vision is blurry when he glances back up at Harry.

“Oh dear,” Harry says. “I didn’t mean to make you sad at all, Zayn. I’m so sorry.”

Zayn wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s okay, you didn’t make me sad. Sometimes I cry when I’m happy too, like really, really happy.” He laughs a little bit and is relieved to see Harry laugh a little too. “We landfolk are a little weird like that sometimes.”

Harry comes back up to the house with him for dinner. They piggyback the whole way - Zayn thinks he could probably carry Harry to the moon if he asked him to.

They have chili from the slow cooker for dinner and bake a pie with canned peaches for dessert. They watch a few episodes of Brooklyn 99 on Zayn’s laptop, but Harry has to get up early tomorrow morning so he declines to stay the night.

It’s after Harry’s gone back to the ocean that Zayn sees the voicemail notification on his phone. It’s Liam.

“ _Hey Zayn!_ ” Zayn smiles at the sound of his voice, tinny as it is. “ _Just calling to let you know you’ll be relieved of your duties by the end of the month!_ ” The smile on Zayn’s face falls away like wilted lettuce. “ _I finally got my transfer all sorted and everything, but that’s the soonest I could get it through. Hope you’ve been surviving there all right… I seriously appreciate it so much, and I’m really looking forward to seeing you again on the 31st!_ ”

Zayn lets the phone drop down onto his bed. He follows it a few seconds later.

The summer couldn’t have gone by that fast. There was so much left he still hadn’t done, he had plans here; plans with his art and the garden and Niall and Louis...and Harry-

Oh god. Harry… He hadn’t told him he’d only been staying here temporarily, had he?

Zayn wracks his brains, trying to remember. He knows he mentioned Liam’s existence to Harry before, but he never actually let on that he was the rightful owner of this place.

“Shit,” Zayn says and sits up. He holds his head in his hands and focuses on his breathing. When he’s calmed down a little, he puts on his PJ’s and grabs his laptop. He tries to find some silly, light cartoon to distract himself and finally starts crying halfway through an episode of Scooby Doo.

*

He doesn’t go out to the beach the next day, and instead works on the garden. He listens to his iPod as he does, because it’s too easy to get caught up in his own thoughts with just the silence for company.

He paints the next day and goes into town for dinner.

It storms all day after that. It goes on for the next couple of days, too, and Zayn highly doubts Harry would be around in such weather.

Finally, almost a week later, the sun peeks out from it’s hiding space between the clouds and he goes down to the beach to see Harry. Arnulf is his usual cheerfully oblivious self and chases sticks without a care in the world. Zayn’s going to miss him.

Harry is plaiting his hair on the beach and grins when he sees Zayn. He throws out his arms for a hug, and Zayn holds him close. He doesn’t even mind the tangy scent of salt clinging to Harry’s hair. He just thinks about how warm he feels, how safe.

When he pulls away Harry’s asks if he’s been feeling well, and Zayn admits he hasn’t. He doesn’t offer up anything else, and Harry doesn’t ask.

He wonders how Harry would respond to the news. If he’d be angry and push Zayn away, if he’d start crying tear stains into Zayn’s pullover, if he’d try to put on a brave face until Zayn left and he was alone again.

He decides not to say anything yet. He knows it’s probably foolish naiveté, but he doesn’t want to ruin their last couple weeks together. It’s more than a little selfish, but he wants to see Harry happy for as long as he can.

So he draws circles in the sand that day while Harry plays with his hair and tells him stories about his travels.

“It’s a shame you can’t visit me the way I can you. All I can do is bring you little souvenirs, I can’t really show you.”

“It feels like you do,” Zayn says. “You’re a good storyteller.”

Harry snorts. “You’re the first one to say that. I’m well aware that I ramble a lot and get sidetracked easily.”

“Well, yeah. You do sometimes, but it’s nice. I like the way you describe things, makes me feel a bit like I’m watching a movie. Like I can almost see it.”

“You’re sweet,” Harry says and nuzzles against his belly. Zayn hopes Harry can’t detect the churning sensation deep in his gut.

*

Time passes much too quickly, and before Zayn is ready for it, the last day of the month has arrived.

Still, it’s hard to feel totally sad when he sees Liam, who scoops Zayn up in a bear hug that has him dangling several inches off the ground. Only then does he stop to greet Arnulf. Even Zayn, who adores Liam dearly, would have difficulty prioritizing Arnulf second, or any dog really.

Liam pulls an envelope out of his pocket and slides it toward Zayn over the counter so he can get down to give Arnulf a proper belly rub.

Zayn pulls a cheque out of the envelope and his eyes widen. “Liam, this is too much.”

Liam shakes his head firmly and gets to his feet. Arnulf sighs heavily and gets up, too. “Pish posh, applesauce. Look, I know you weren’t really keen on coming here, but you did it anyways and it really helped me and my family out. And look at what you’ve done with the place! There’s not a speck of dust in sight.”

“I worked on the garden, too,” Zayn mumbles.

Liam kisses him on the forehead. “See? You’re a wonder, you are. Worth every penny in there and then some.” Then he’s going along out back to see the garden, Arnulf trailing excitedly at his heels.

Zayn just stands there in the kitchen. Now that he’s got the money, Liam will no doubt be expecting him to get out of here as fast as humanly possible.

He’s got to tell Harry. He’s left it to the absolute last minute, but he can’t just go without saying something, no matter how much he’d rather leave with a memory of Harry’s smiling face.

Liam comes back in, grinning ear to ear. “Zayn! It looks so great out there! You could be, like, a professional gardener for a living or something.”

“Yeah, well…It was just something to do, y’know?”

Liam rolls his eyes, but then a new thought comes over him and he forgets to tease Zayn about his modesty. “Oh, listen. I just remembered it’s karaoke night down at the pub. Wanna head down to celebrate your last night here?”

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah, that’s alright. I’m a bit knackered actually, probably gonna head to bed early.”

“Right...I expect you’ll want to be up early to leave anyways.”

“Yeah, that too. You should go, though, I know you’ll have fun.”

“If you’re sure?” He can tell Liam wants to go, but Zayn knows he would stay if he asked.

“Yeah, you go on.”

Liam scoops his keys off the counter and pulls Zayn in for another hug. “Thanks again for doing all this. I’ll try my best to keep the garden as good as I found it. Oh!” He pulls back suddenly. “I almost forgot- I’ll be right back.”

He returns a minute later carrying a tray of plants. “Surprise! I brought your babies back from the dorm. Someone else was moving in just as I was leaving, so I figured you could just take them with you. And look, not one of them wilted while they were with me! I think I might be able to grow a green thumb yet, eh?”

“Not sure it works that way if I’m honest,” Zayn chuckles and sets the tray down on a stool next to the doorway. “Thanks Liam, they look great. Have fun at the pub.” He hopes it’s not obvious how much he’s trying to get Liam to leave.

“I will!” Liam pauses in the doorway. “Sure you don’t want to come? It’s a great little spot, but I understand if you’re just not feeling up for it.”

Zayn feels a little bad. Truth be told, he would like to go. It would be fun to hang out with everyone once more, and Liam too. But his friends in town always knew he wasn’t staying forever – it’s Harry he owes his last day here.

“I’ll be good,” he assures Liam. “Still got a little packing left to do anyways.”

He paces around the house for five minutes after Liam’s gone. He’s pictured himself having this conversation with Harry in his head so many times, but it never went well no matter what words he used.

Zayn decides to leave Arnulf at the cottage. He stares after him with big, sad eyes, and maybe another time Zayn will laugh when he thinks Liam’s puppy dog eyes are almost harder to look at than an actual dogs’.

The ocean is fittingly restless today, waves lashing erratically against the shore.

Zayn pulls the seashell whistle out from under his shirt. He gingerly fingers the chain he’s attached it to and wonders if Harry will ask for it back now.

He blows on the whistle and waits. A few agonizing minutes pass before a familiar head of hair breaks the surface of the water. Zayn waves Harry over to where he’s sitting on the edge of a rocky outcropping. The water is lapping at his feet, but he barely even registers it.

Harry seems to be in high spirits as he swims over, diving in and out of the water like a dolphin. It makes Zayn feel even worse than before, that Harry’s having an exceptionally good day and Zayn’s about to ruin it.

Harry shakes his streaming strands of hair out of his face and beams up at Zayn. God, he feels _sick_.

“Harry,” Zayn blurts out. “I have to go.”

“Why didn’t you go before you left?” Harry rolls his eyes, an expression he’s picked up from Zayn. “Well, go on then. There’s some bushes way back there, I won’t peek.”

“No, I mean- I have to leave _here_. The house I’m staying in, I’m moving out of it.”

The smile freezes on Harry’s face, and his eyes narrow in confusion. “What? But Zayn, you live here.”

“I know, Harry, I _did_. I was only supposed to look after it for the summer until a friend of mine could move into it. And he’s here now, so I have to go.” He reaches out for Harry’s shoulder, but Harry shifts away from the touch.

He’s staring at Zayn with hurt thick in his eyes and downward stretch of his mouth. A different kind of salty water wells up in his eyes and cascades down his face.

“Harry, listen, I-” Zayn wants to tell him it’ll be okay. He may not be able to write or call Harry, but he’ll come back for a visit soon.

But Harry doesn’t want to listen and with a splash of his tail he’s darting back out into the ocean again.

“Harry!” Zayn calls out after him, but he doesn’t surface.

Zayn can’t leave things like this- he needs to fix things between them if he ever hopes to get a glimpse of Harry again.

It’s with that panicked thought that Zayn slides into the freezing water.

He hisses when the cold seeps up through the fabric of his clothing, but doesn’t let it stop him from making his way through the water as quickly as his human legs can go. He pushes himself off the odd rock jutting out of the water for extra leverage before the quickly fading trail of bubbles Harry left in his wake disappear completely.

“Harry!” he yells again, catching saltwater on his tongue. The waves are lapping across his chest now. He’s so focused on watching the trail in front of him that he doesn’t realize his feet are nearing a drop-off until he steps over it.

The first thing Zayn registers is the dull roar of the waves all around him. He accidentally swallows water and immediately gags at the foul briny taste in his mouth and nose. He kicks his legs and flails his arms about frantically until his head clears the surface. He catches a few precious breaths before another wave crashes over him and sends him spinning down. He plugs his nose this time, saving his breath as he struggles to reach the surface once more. One last kick of his legs and he feels the wind against his face.

“ _Harry!_ ” he cries out, throat scraped raw with saltwater. He can barely hear himself, and he knows it was a waste of breath when another wave rolls over his head and he sinks back down again. His limbs feel heavy, his whole body feels worn out and waterlogged.

He doesn’t have the presence of mind to focus on anything else besides holding his breath as long as he can, when something bumps against his arm. Something that wriggles, alive.

Zayn’s immediate thought is sharks, and he flails back again and screams the last of his air into the ocean. It’s no use, because something strong is wrapping tightly around his torso and he feels powerless to stop as it drags him through the water.

Zayn wonders blearily if he’s going to die just before he crashes through the surface and into the air. He struggles feebly to stay afloat, but whatever’s got a grip around him isn’t letting go. His eyes are stinging too much to risk opening again to check, but Zayn is vaguely aware he’s being cradled by someone, of the solid torso pressed along his back, the serpentine muscles swishing against his legs as they work to keep him afloat, and the arms still wrapped firmly around his chest.

Zayn knows who it is, he knows he should know, but his brain is working as sluggishly as the rest of him and the answer comes to him slowly.

“Stop moving around.” Harry’s worried voice in Zayn’s ear is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “I’m getting you back to the beach, okay? Just hold on.”

Zayn doesn’t trust his voice to answer, so he just tilts his head back into Harry’s shoulder and focuses on trying to breathe.

Zayn’s surprised how far out in the ocean he must’ve gone, because it feels like forever until his feet touch bottom again. Harry cuts through the waves like they’re nothing, doesn’t even sound out of breath as he continues tugging Zayn along until they reach the shore. Zayn expects to feel the dig of rocks beneath him, but Harry’s found a spot where the pebbles have been ground down into grains of sand.

He hauls Zayn up out of the water and helps him sit up so he can empty his lungs of all the ocean he swallowed. He spits into the sand when he’s done, but it’s still not enough to get the taste out completely.

He rolls over onto his back when he’s done. He closes his eyes, because Harry’s going to leave again and he doesn’t want to see it.

“What were you _thinking_ ?” Harry hisses. His voice is still close, and Zayn can feel the shadow of his presence above him. “You know you can’t swim, you ridiculous, _ridiculous_ boy.” His voice breaks off, and there’s no bite to his words, even though Zayn certainly wouldn’t blame him for being pissed. He’d probably be pissed at himself, too, if he had the energy.

He scrubs the salt out of his eyes once more and blinks up at Harry.

“Harry, I… thank y-” There’s unchecked reverence in his voice and Harry cuts him off, guessing what he’s about to say.

“As if I could’ve done anything else.” He looks close to crumbling apart, and Zayn reaches out to him.

He half expects Harry to push away and leave now, but instead he surges forward and wraps himself around Zayn in a tight embrace.

“Please,” Harry begs, and Zayn winces because he expects Harry will ask him not to go. “Never do that again.”

Zayn shakes his head easily in agreement.

Harry runs a bit warmer than Zayn – he’s got to, living where he does – and he holds Zayn in a full body hug, coiling his tail over his legs and winding his arms around his torso, his face pressed over his chest so he can listen to the sound of his heartbeat.

They lay there for a while longer until Zayn’s shivering too much, and he can no longer suppress the chattering of his teeth. Harry pulls away from him and looks down sadly.

“I can’t warm you up enough on my own. We’ll have to go up to the house.”

“We?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight sooner than I have to after all that, you are very much mistaken.”

Zayn feels too worn out to carry Harry back to the house, but Harry comes up with a solution in the form of wheelbarrow racing, minus the racing part. Zayn holds Harry by the tail while Harry uses his hands to support his own weight, and a little of Zayn’s too, when Harry tells him to lean into him as much as he needs to.

Arnulf is nearly beside himself when they open up the door, bouncing around Zayn and trying to lick his face with even more urgency than usual.

“I think he knows,” Harry says. Zayn just nods, and does his best to reassure Arnulf with pets and scratches on his way to the bathroom. His clothes are stiff and cling to him when he tries to pull them off, and it’s a small blessing he didn’t go out in skinny jeans today.

He hears the light smack of Harry’s tail following him down the hallway, but Zayn doesn’t give even a thought to modesty as he piles the clothing next to the tub. Actually, Zayn doubts very much that Harry’s ever gone about clothed a day in his life – he certainly hasn’t been in all the time Zayn’s known him - so it would be very hypocritical of him to judge Zayn for it.

The shower steams up immediately, but it still takes time for Zayn to actually feel the heat of it against his skin.

“You should probably sit down, in case you go all wobbly.” Zayn glances down to see Harry resting his arms over the lip of the tub. “And don’t start it on the hottest setting, just keep it warm so you can gradually heat your body up without going into surprise.”

“Into shock,” Zayn corrects absentmindedly and does as he’s told. Harry passes him a wadded up towel to stick behind his head.

“Don’t get too comfy, though, I’ll be back to check on you in a minute. Just going to throw these things in a sink so they can soak a little.”

“Got it,” Zayn says, shivering at the prickly sensation of the heat beginning to return to his limbs under the light spray of the showerhead.

Harry’s back soon to keep Zayn company. He leans up against the tub and tells some truly cheesy jokes that still make Zayn laugh somehow. Harry says he’s been thinking up puns ever since he knew they existed, and it’s been hard finding an audience for them.

Zayn’s feeling close to himself again by the time the water starts to go cold. Harry hauls himself away and comes back brandishing Zayn’s pajamas. They’re warm and Harry admits he couldn’t remember how to use the dryer, so he’d stuck them underneath Arnulf’s belly to warm up.

It’s probably too late for tea, but Zayn’s so exhausted he doubts it’ll make much difference and flicks on the kettle anyway. He throws his salty clothes in the wash while he waits for the kettle to boil, feels like he’s got to keep himself occupied and moving.

Harry informs him that his phone beeped a couple times while he was in the shower. Zayn swipes it open to find several texts from Liam’s phone.

_Hey, louis here._

_our buddy liam had a liiittle too much fun with shots, so just a heads up that we’re having him sleep it off at ours._

_Hope u have a good night yourself, dont forget to stop by so we can see u off :)_

“It says my friend won’t be back until the morning,” Zayn tells Harry.

Harry glances over to where Arnulf’s already taken over the bottom half of the bed. “Does that mean I can stay for another night?”

Zayn nods and reaches for his pajamas.

*

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Zayn says when they’re lying face-to-face on his bed. “I know you’re probably still feeling angry with me, and I just…I wish there was something I could do to fix things.”

“Zayn, I wasn’t…” Harry sniffles suspiciously, even though he’s insisted he’s all cried out now. “I was so scared when you tried to follow me into the water, it didn’t leave much room to feel angry. I just…if I had known our time together would be coming to an end sooner, I would’ve only cherished it so much more.”

“It’s not the end,” Zayn assures him. “I’ll be back to visit as soon as I can. I promise.”

“I know.” Harry sticks out his pinky, and they swear to meet again soon.

“I should’ve told you sooner, I know I should’ve.” Harry pulls apart from the pinky promise to interlace their fingers together. “I just…I didn’t want it to ruin our time together, and I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

Harry snorts a little. “Didn’t much help in the end though, did it? Besides, I can’t imagine you were all that happy keeping it to yourself.”

Zayn sighs. “No, you’re right. I just, I wanted to see _you_ happy for as long as I could.”

Harry slides his free hand across the covers until it rests against Zayn’s cheek. “I don’t think you should do things for other people at your own expense. Not for me or anyone else. No matter how much you care about someone, you shouldn’t care about anyone more than you do yourself.”

A tear rolls down Zayn’s cheek, and Harry brushes it away with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn whispers. No matter how many times he says it, he doesn’t feel the words are adequate enough to express how much he really is.

“No more sorries, Zayn.” Harry shuffles closer until their foreheads are pressed together and the tips of their noses are touching. “Can we, just…” His words trail off as he presses their lips together. There’s a sharpness to the kiss that isn’t usually there, but Harry’s still careful not to nick Zayn with his teeth.

They pull apart eventually, still close enough they breath the same breaths. Zayn reaches out to cradle the back of Harry’s head, mindful not to catch the gills along his neck.

“I love you, Harry.”

“Thank you, Zayn.” It’s so endearingly genuine and so very _Harry_ , Zayn can’t help but smile at it. “I love you back.”

*

Zayn wakes up when he hears the door open and keys dropping on the counter a moment later.

It takes him a long moment to register that Liam’s home. It takes him another to realize Harry is, too. Crap, he forgot to set that alarm.

“Zayn?” Liam calls. Zayn can feel Harry stiffen from his position draped across Zayn’s chest. Arnulf is awake now as well and leaps off the bed - perfectly carefree - to greet Liam.

They’re only moments away from discovery, and there’s nothing Zayn can do to prevent it. They can’t possibly make it out without Liam spotting them, and his footsteps are coming down the hallway now.

“Zayn?” Liam raps with his knuckles and the door creaks fully open. “Did you want me to make- Oh.”

Harry’s tail is impossible to miss, stretched out over the covers. Zayn has an arm around his shoulders, and he pulls Harry with him as he sits up in the bed. Harry is alert, but there’s no tightness to the line of his back to suggest he’s feeling worried.

“Sorry, um...” Liam fumbles against the door. “Right, okay.” He steadies himself and takes a deep breath. “Am I intruding here or would either of you like to join me for breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” It’s Harry’s turn to be surprised now.

“Yes, it’s our first meal of the day.” Liam’s doing much better than Zayn did when meeting Harry. He’s already managing full sentences and everything. Arnulf slides past him and hops up on the bed again, rolling over on his back with a whine because no one’s paying him any attention.

“I know what breakfast is,” Harry says, swishing his tail away from Arnulf’s sprawling limbs. He squints at Liam. “And I have the strangest feeling that I’ve seen you before.”

Liam nods slowly. “I came here every summer when I was younger to visit my Great Aunt Gertie who used to live here.” Zayn can feel Harry inhale sharply against his ribs and wraps his other arm around him. “I was playing with a beach ball I got as an early birthday present, but I hit it too far and it went way out into the ocean. I started to cry because it was too far for me to get it back, but then it just…bounced back to me, like someone threw it. My parents said it must’ve been a stroke of luck with the wind, but I knew that couldn’t have been the case. Was that you?”

Harry clears his throat and nods. “You looked so happy when you were playing with it, and I didn’t want you not to be.”

“I know it’s a bit late, but…thank you, for doing that. I’m Liam, by the way.”

“I’m Harry.”

Liam grins, easy as anything, like meeting a siren hasn’t just changed his whole worldview. Then again, Zayn wouldn’t be surprised if the way Liam looked at the world always had room for folks like Harry in it.

“So,” Liam says, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, in the tiny space between Arnulf’s legs. “How do you two know each other?”

Zayn starts at the beginning, but he knows by the time he gets to the end - to last night - that Liam’s going to be very cross with him.

“What on earth were you thinking?!” Liam swats at Zayn with the loose cuff of his sweater. “I’m going to have nightmares about that for the rest of my life now. God, Zayn…” He shudders. “And none of that would’ve ever happened if you had just talked to me.”

“To you?” Harry asks, tilting his head curiously. “About what?”

Liam stares beseechingly at Zayn. “Zayn, do you…like it here? Like, do you actually enjoy being here, aside from Harry?”

Zayn considers that for a moment. He thinks about the little town of Salport with it’s boring history that its citizens somehow still feel so proud of, about how he hasn’t tried every flavour ice cream yet in the shop down at the end of the boardwalk.

He thinks about the art commission Louis requested for Niall’s birthday, and the one Niall’s getting for Louis, which they’ve both sworn him to secrecy about, and how much they make Zayn feel at home when he’s around them and even when he’s not.

He thinks about how he’s nearing the end of his sketch book and needs to buy another one soon, and how he’s rediscovered his love for art being here.

He thinks about how well he’s come to know this little house at the edge of town, about how he can map out every creak in the floorboards, about the wind chime on the porch that rings in the slightest breeze, about walking the beach with Arnulf and drying off his paws with a towel before going inside.

He thinks about the secret family jam recipe he found pinned inside one of the cupboards, and how he’d wanted to try it out when the beach plums ripened. He thinks about how much Harry would’ve liked that.

As for Harry himself, that was easy.

Harry, who swore like a granny, who carried around a sack of bottle caps and pretty pebbles and called them his treasures. Harry, who had been delighted to see Zayn from the start. Harry, who’d understood the way Zayn’s heart held love better than most humans Zayn had ever spoken to.

Zayn loved Harry, that much was obvious, but he was still far from the only thing he’d grown to love here. Defying every expectation Zayn had set out with, Salport had become a home to him.

“I’m not sure I would’ve learned to enjoy half of it if it weren’t for Harry,” Zayn admits. “But I do really like being here. I think- no…I _know_ that I’ll miss every bit of this place when I go.”

“ _If_ , Zayn,” Liam says. “If you go.”

“What?”

Liam’s fingers ruffle through Arnulf’s fur, and there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he looks up at them. “How would you feel about being my roommate again?”

*****

**6 months later**

*****

It’s pouring rain on Harry’s birthday. Zayn and Liam carry him up to the house in between them as quickly as they can, Harry giggling the whole way because they were drenched as soon as they opened the door and he doesn’t see what difference running would make.

It doesn’t start storming until after they’re inside, toweling off their heads at the door and trading their drenched clothes for warm sweats fresh out of the dryer. Harry nestles into one of Zayn’s hoodies, nose tucked inside to take in the scent. Zayn tries not to smile because he knows Harry thinks he’s being discreet.

They’ve figured out before that his sense of smell is better than theirs, although not quite as good as Arnulf’s. It’s uncanny the kinds of things he can pick up from that alone, like when Liam’s had a rough day at work or if Zayn’s feeling excited about a new commission he just picked up from someone.

He wants to ask what it is exactly that Harry’s nose can pick up from his clothing, but he doesn’t want to make him feel self-conscious. It makes Harry smile, whatever it is.

Liam puts on the kettle for hot cocoa, and then they congregate in the living room with their mugs while thunder echoes through the clouds outside.

“I feel so snuggly in here with you,” Harry says, taking a sip of his tea. “You don’t usually see storms in the ocean on the surface unless you get caught in them. We always hide out as low as we can until everything settles. But it feels safe here, like a nest.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to be caught out in this either.” Liam passes around a plate of cheese biscuits that are still cooling off from the oven. Arnulf knows they aren’t for him, so he settles for laying across their feet with a loud _harrumph_.

Harry unwraps Liam’s present first. It’s a long, hand knitted scarf. The yarn is soft blue striped with seaweed green, which is remarkably similar to the colours of Harry’s tail.

“I found it in Aunt Gertie’s things,” Liam says. “I’m sure she would’ve wanted you to have it.”

Harry’s bottom lip trembles, and he launches himself across Zayn and wraps himself around Liam. Liam, who played rugby all through high school, barely even staggers back with the full force of Harry’s hug.

“I’m glad you like it,” Liam says softly, squeezing Harry back.

Harry flops down onto the couch after a long minute. They’ve never told him that hugs between most people don’t usually last longer than a few seconds. It’s not as though they actually mind Harry’s long hugs.

Harry wraps the scarf around his neck with tentative, gentle hands, taking care not to snag the fabric with his nails.

Then Zayn pulls his present out from where he’d tucked it up behind the couch, safe from Arnulf’s wagging tail.

“And this is from me,” Zayn says, holding it out to Harry with a nervous smile. Harry cautiously fingers at the brown paper wrapping, before finding a loose edge and tearing at it.

Zayn holds his breath. He’s been working on this for weeks. Liam’s caught glimpses of it, but Zayn’s done his best to keep the mere existence of it hidden from Harry. He really hopes he’ll like it.

Harry unfolds the last edge of brown paper and, faced with a blank canvas, slowly flips it over.

Harry gasps. Liam sucks in a breath as well.

It’s a painting of Harry. In it, he’s sitting in a little rock pool with all his treasures spread out on a flat stone next to him. Just like he was when they first met.

Harry’s hands are trembling as he reaches out to feel the brush strokes.

“It looks like me,” he finally says, awe thick in his throat.

“Yeah, that’s what I was going for,” Zayn chuckles nervously.

Harry shakes his head. “No, I mean it _really_ looks like me. The way I am.”

“Sorry, I’m…I don’t follow.” Liam looks lost, too.

Harry clears his throat and points to his painted face. “My eyes,” he says, “I know they aren’t like your eyes or Liam’s eyes or the eyes of any other landfolk. They’re big and wide and kind of, um, fishy. So I would understand if they probably seem a bit weird to you, but you didn’t change the way they look here. I don’t have all flat teeth or anything either. I look like me, because that’s how you see me. That’s how you _want_ to see me.”

“Right,” Zayn says, finally catching on. “I wouldn’t like you more if you were different. I like _you_.”

Harry nods again, and his eyes are bright with tears when he turns his head. Zayn kisses him until Liam coughs and asks pointedly if they want cake now. Harry nods, and flashes Liam an apologetic grin. He rolls his eyes fondly at the two of them.

Things have been good, more than good, really.

Liam and Harry both insisted that if Zayn was going to continue staying here, he’d need to know how to swim. They’ve been giving him swimming lessons, and he’s been doing much better. He doesn’t think he’ll be joining Louis and Liam on one of their surfing trips up to Tofino anytime soon, but he can float on his back and even let himself relax in the ocean’s embrace. And he treads water like a champ. He’s still working on more advanced stuff like the breaststroke, but he is starting from scratch so he figures it’s fine.

He’s not sure he’ll ever completely love the ocean, but it doesn’t scare him anymore. It’s hard to be scared of something that brought him Harry in the first place.

**_*_ **

**_The End._ **

**_*_ **

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "shelter" by eisley
> 
> I had actually started off this exchange months ago writing a vampire prompt, but for various reasons wasn't able to finish it, and decided to start this one last minute. however, i still might possibly be interested in taking another shot at that one later on if my prompter was interested? i had a lot of fun developing it, but it kind of got away from me and other such things.
> 
> Regardless, i've always adored merfolk stories, and i really enjoyed the opportunity to (finally) write one of my own. i hope u liked it :)
> 
> (fyi, i do identify as being on the ace spectrum myself, and while the character of zayn here isn't intended to represent everyone with whom he shares an identity, pls lmk if there's anything gross/misrepresentative here.)


End file.
